


All That's Best of Dark and Bright

by Magnetism_bind



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, Inappropriate relations, Oral Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne remembers Rochefort all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Best of Dark and Bright

“At least one person is pleased I appointed Rochefort to my counsel.” Louis told her when they parted for the night. “I am glad, my dearest, that I could do one small gesture that brought a smile to your face.”

Anne smiled, but said nothing in response to his words. For what could she say? That she hated the man with everything within her? That was the truth of it. A truth she had swallowed down today, in the face of Louis publicly recognizing him. It would not do to make an enemy of Rochefort here. To do such a thing would have been most unsafe.

There had always been duties, but now she had the Dauphin to consider first and foremost. Her little Louis. Anne’s heart warmed at the thought. Her son.

She was restless that night. At last Anne rose from her bed and took up her robe. First she went to check on Louis. He was safe, sound asleep in his cradle, his nurse at his side. Anne touched his soft cheek, feeling the warmth and softness. He was so small and so alive and so precious. If Rochefort were to learn the secret of her son, he would use it to tear the kingdom apart. She kissed Louis’s forehead and left the nursery.

Then she went to the chapel. The maid who had followed her fell back a respectful distance as she entered. Anne breathed a sigh of relief. She would be glad when Constance was in residence. There was no privacy here for her.

She crossed herself and knelt.

Once a long time ago, before she had married Louis, before she’d ever dreamed of a man like Aramis, it was Rochefort who had possessed her secrets. Anne had a feeling he was not about to let her forget that. Not now. It seemed as though any moment he’d come through the door and stand there, examining her intently with his eyes as he used to do.

She could hear his voice even now. “Well then, my dear pupil, shall we begin?”

Anne closed her eyes.

_Hot summer afternoons, fingertips grazing her bare shoulders, the orange scented air._

She had been a mere girl when Rochefort first arrived at the Spanish court. It seemed a lifetime ago, but Anne remembered it so clearly. His hair had been long then too, swept back in a smart golden queue. And his eyes, as piercing and sharp as sapphires, pinning her like a trapped butterfly. He was handsome, but in the way that a storm was fascinating from a distance.

It had started very subtly, so much so Anne hadn’t thought to object until it was too late. By then she knew what was at stake – for her. There would be some punishment for him, naturally, which Rochefort would bear masterfully, a reformed penitent.

But for her it would be utter disgrace. France would never have wed her so Anne remained quiet and let him.

The first touch had been on the back of her neck. A gentle flutter of his fingertips, so light Anne had thought she’d imagined it altogether. She looked up from her work, but he was gazing at her paper, eyes intent on her studies. Yes, Anne decided, she had imagined it. She was certain of it. The chaperone in the corner yawned and said nothing at all.

 * * *

Anne turned the page and froze.

His hand slipped under her petticoats. She couldn’t breathe as it traveled up her thigh.

“A queen should be knowledgeable in all aspects.” Rochefort murmured.

Anne held her breath as his thumb continued to graze light circles on her inner thigh. His other hand slipped along the curve of her bodice, letting the heat from his palm flood her. He was good at that. Making her want what she knew she should not, especially from him.

“And now, your lesson,” Rochefort said, leaning in.

He kissed her that day in the library while his fingers played over her clit. Rochefort left her gasping and flushed, pressing wantonly against his fingertips. And then he laughed, and kissed her again.

 *  *  *

After that afternoon, the lessons altered. Rochefort taught her French customs, and how to come from the mere touch of his fingers.

He taught her French poetry, and how to kiss – how to dance and voice her opinion so that the king would listen.

“Your husband will be the head of the country, but you are to be the queen.” His lips grazed her throat and Anne’s pulse fluttered.

“You will have the whole of France in the palm of your hand. All you have to do is win their hearts.”

He pressed the palm of his own hand against her mound, bringing her to a subtle, exquisite orgasm.

 *  *  *

But even Rochefort, bold as he was, did not dare to bed the future queen of France.

“I’ll reserve that right for your husband.” He told her, parting her thighs with purposeful hands.

Anne squirmed. “How is that so very different from what you’re already-”

She gasped, her head falling back as his tongue pressed deeper inside her. Anne clutched the cushion of the chaise and tried to remain in control, but it was impossible. His tongue drove her to higher and higher peaks, until she was lost. Her breasts rose and fell with the pleasure sweeping her. Her heart felt like the sea, distant and relentless and wild to its deepest depths.

Rochefort rested his chin against her knee. He licked his lips and smiled at her.

“It is only different in the mind of men who seek to prove something.” He leaned up to press his thumb over her lip. “That the union between the king and yourself will unite countries and forge bonds, and you will be cleaved to his flesh for all eternity.” His thumb and forefinger freed her left breast from her bodice. Rochefort gazed at her, and then deliberately pinched the tip, making her gasp.

“But you will always remember me.”

How could she forget?

 *  *  *

Before her wedding day Rochefort had been given orders to return to France. He had taken his formal leave of her. After she had been married to Louis, he had been sent off on the Cardinal’s orders. Anne had never seen him again.

Until now.

 *  *  *

Anne opened her eyes.

If he revealed the secret of their past there was no telling what Louis would do. He might have Rochefort executed. He could forgive her. But the king was capricious as Anne well knew. He could just as easily forgive Rochefort and then reward him for giving the king proof of her unfit nature to be queen. He could set her aside and take a new queen. What then of her son?

She thought of Aramis. She had hoped he would be able to keep the secret, but there were moments she feared his heart would betray them all. How could a man look at her with such love in his eyes? Did he not feel betrayed himself for the fact that they could never be together now? She had gained her heart’s desire and lost it in the same act.

Anne clasped her hands together tighter. If Rochefort was to remain at court, she would need to make a friend of him. To keep him on her side, so that the allure of his status was more appealing than revealing her secret.

“Stay where you are.” Her maid spoke out. “The queen requires privacy.”

Anne rose to her feet and turned. It was no surprise to see Rochefort standing there at the door to the chapel. In the half candlelight his hair was burnished dark as the night sky. 

“Forgive me, your majesty, I did not mean to interrupt.”

“You did not.” Her voice was clipped, and Anne strove to soften it. “I was merely giving thanks that God had been gracious enough to grant me the return of an old friend in times such as these.”

There was a flicker of interest, a growing curiosity, in his eyes as Rochefort bowed. “As always I am at your service, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Rochefort.” Anne gave him her hand. His lips were cool on her skin and she caught her breath, remembering. Those same lips on her thighs, his fingers inside her, teasing out the hidden secrets she kept from the world, the way he could make her cry aloud with ecstasy. His thumb brushed over hers as he released her hand and Anne knew that he remembered too.

She nodded to him and left the chapel, her maid following behind.

She would make Rochefort her man, and he would guard her secrets. Never again would she be so vulnerable. She was a woman now, not a young girl, and a queen.

 But there was one more thing Anne needed to do.

*  *  *

She entrusted the letter to Constance who delivered it safely into the hands of Aramis.

He read it once he was apart from the others in the privacy of his own room. He lit his candle and broke the seal, his hand trembling.

_My dearest love,_

_You must know that you are first and foremost in my heart, now and always. The possibility of someone discovering the truth is beyond contemplation. I knew the danger, and still I wanted you. When I look at him, I see you, when he smiles at me, I see your happiness. When his eyes are filled with tears, I want to ease your pain. There is never a moment that you are not in my thoughts. I love you._

_- A._

Aramis stood by the candle until it had burned low, rereading the words until they were engraved upon his heart. Then he pressed it to his lips, and set it to the flame.

 


End file.
